


Play On

by CaptainCrieffsHat



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: First Time, Martin plays the violin, Muteness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-21 04:06:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1536902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainCrieffsHat/pseuds/CaptainCrieffsHat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My attempt at filling this prompt:</p><p>I'm dying to read some Martin/Douglas AU in which Martin is deaf and/or mute, or alternatively blind.</p><p>Please?</p><p>I assume flying would be out of the question but maybe he has another passion he pursuits (music, sculpturing, writing, engineering...), or anything that has to do with aviation nevertheless.</p><p>A first meeting, a caring Douglas and them falling in love and a happy ending please?</p><p>http://cabinpres-fic.dreamwidth.org/6625.html?thread=13261281#cmt13261281</p><p>Title is from Paloma Faith's song of the same name!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Douglas cursed good naturedly under his breath as he surveyed the boxes to be packed out of his flat. He had just finalized the divorce with Helena (good riddance to her), and now he was in the process of moving somewhere slightly smaller, but more luxurious and more fitting for him. 

Fitting everything into his Lexus was not a viable option, irritatingly. He rummaged through the assorted items he had kept out on his table and found his laptop, and typed in a quick search for a man with a van. Icarus Removals. Odd name, but well priced, and only a few miles away. 

Douglas tried to call, but was directed to the voice mail of a Martin Crieff. Trying not to sigh, he left a message, and got up to make a quick lunch. 

In less than 60 seconds, his phone chirped.

_Yes, I’m available to move your things. I’ll be over right away. Address please?_

~~~~~~

The man must have been desperate for moving jobs; the man pulled up only ten minutes after Douglas had dialed his number. 

A few moments later, there was a knock, and Douglas opened the door.  
In front of him was a sinewy, slender, porcelain skinned man with a shock of unruly ginger curls. He was actually quite handsome, in a shy, self-conscious sort of way. He was nervous, and everything from his feet to his disproportionately long fingers seemed to be in perpetual motion. 

“Thanks for showing up. I was getting more desperate by the hour,” Douglas drawled. 

Douglas waited for the man to say something. There was a terribly awkward, long pause of silence. Mr. Crieff shifted nervously and began to dig something out of his pocket. 

“Come on in.” Douglas felt his confidence fading by the second.

It was stiflingly awkward. Martin stepped lightly through the door, finally pulling out his small blank notepad and a pen and began scrawling quickly across the page, ripping the note off and handing it Douglas.

_Just tell me what needs doing._

Douglas read the note, glancing at him in confusion. The man had pale blush spreading across his cheeks. But he looked normal, no scarring around his throat…. So how….

“Can you not speak?”

Mr. Crieff, becoming even redder, abruptly turned away to walk back to his van, and Douglas suddenly understood that this man was turned away by customers all the time, probably at this exact moment in conversation. 

“No need to rush off. It’s fine, I can just tell you what I need done.” Douglas smiled hastily at the man’s back. “Look, I’m just happy to have someone moving my stuff. It’s all the same to me.”

The man turned around, still blushing, but looking marginally less trodden down. 

“Let’s just start with the entryway, shall we?”

~~~~~~

Martin was sore from lifting Douglas’s piano (and besides that, the man had tons of stuff), but Douglas had helped him the whole time, and he drove home actually happy, which was certainly not something that usually happened after van jobs. Douglas had been a little stilted at first, but it hadn't taken long and Martin actually found himself wondering if the man would ever shut up.

Not that he minded; people didn’t usually want to talk to a mute person. The hard thing about being mute wasn’t being unable to speak, Martin thought; it was the fact the no one spoke to you, either. After all, what was the point? What was the point, when all he could do was listen, or perhaps write awkwardly in reply? People hated that, too. 

Douglas had even tried to make him laugh, as much as mute person could laugh. He had told him of meeting his last wife at his own wedding, trying to fit three golf balls into his mouth at his stag party, and telling Martin hilarious stories of his co-worker, Arthur. Martin wondered fleetingly what Douglas did for a living. 

Martin tried not to think about him anymore, though, by the time he got back to his attic, stepping towards his violin case. People like Douglas were rare, and thinking about how good things had been today only made him feel worse about the prospect of tomorrow. The violin, though, would always speak to him.


	2. Chapter 2

Carolyn had finally, finally threatened and nagged Douglas enough about doing his logbooks that it had actually become worse listening to her than actually filling them out. So accordingly, he came to work early, before a flight, began the colossal task of filling out his logbook, and acted long suffering and put upon, which gained him zero sympathy from Carolyn, but nevertheless, somehow made him feel better. 

Douglas’s phone went off. Sighing and pulling it out of his pocket, he paused in some confusion at the unfamiliar number and realized it was the mute man he had met the day before, Martin Crieff. He determinedly refused to acknowledge the small clench he felt in his stomach. 

_There’s a box of your stuff in my van. I’m really, REALLY sorry I missed it yesterday. Can I drop it off to you?_

_It’s fine. I’m leaving for a work trip in an hour anyway. I can do a week without my underwear, anyway._

_What?! No, I think it’s your laptop, and a few books. You’ll probably need it for work? If you’re going to be gone a whole week?_

Douglas rolled his eyes, internally. Anxiety practically radiated off the man in waves. There was a pause, and then:

_…And I really hope the underwear thing is a joke._

Though Douglas really did need his laptop (he had saved paying his bills until the last minute, and he had planned on using the downtime in Zurich to catch up), Douglas found himself chuckling. Martin had been painfully shy, but by the end of the moving job yesterday, Douglas had been becoming rather addicted to trying to make the corners of his eyes crease with silent amusement. 

A shorter pause, and his phone went off yet again. _Please let me drop it off for you. Where do you work?_

_Well, since you insist….Do you know where Fitton Airfield is?_

_Yes. Be there in 20 min. Meet you in the car park._

Douglas didn't smile after he read the text. He absolutely did not... 

~~~~~~~~~~

Douglas suddenly looked up at the clock, 45 minutes later. He had started actually focusing, and lost track of the time. He checked his phone. Martin hadn’t texted him, so he probably hadn’t come yet, but Douglas decided to check the car park. Just in case Martin was waiting.

He blinked in the harsh sunlight after being in the poorly lit Portakabin for such a long period. The ground seemed to tremble beneath his feet as Golf Echo Echo made their take-off. He quickly scanned the parked cars and sought out the beaten up white van. He quickened his step. 

Martin had gotten out and was staring up into the sky, his neck bent so far back it looked painful. The tense worry that Douglas had seen on his face yesterday when meeting him for the first time had melted, replaced with a mixture of energy and awe. Martin’s mouth gaped, his eyes wide, and he looked as if he would be positively squealing in delight, if he wasn’t…. Well. 

After observing for a few seconds, Douglas reached out to grab the box clutched tightly in Martin’s hands. “I hope you didn’t have to wait long.”

Martin’s whole body jerked with surprise, and Douglas had to catch the box from falling to the ground.  
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

Martin looked at him, blushed, and shook his head quickly. _No, I was the idiot who almost dropped your stuff on the ground._ Martin moved to glance back up at the sky, unable to resist, but suddenly, he did a rather comical double take at Douglas’s MJN uniform. 

Douglas, grinning, glanced at the Golf Echo Echo, now receding into the distance, and Martin’s gob smacked face. Martin looked ready to fall over from excitement. 

“Ah, I see, a fellow fan of aviation, are we?” The blush still hadn’t left Martin’s cheeks. He shrugged self-deprecatingly. _It hardly matters._

The silence lapsed from a comfortable one into an awkward one. This was always Martin’s cue to leave, and he began to turn away.

Douglas felt the clench in his stomach again, more difficult to willfully ignore this time. Martin’s giddiness was contagious. He couldn’t squelch his curiosity about the man, and Martin looked like he could use a good meal. And despite continuing to generate explanations to himself, he still surprised himself with the words that practically burst from his mouth.

“Wait a moment, Martin.” Douglas stalled, as Martin stopped and looked at him questioningly. “Thanks for bringing my laptop. Seems like I owe you one.” Douglas hesitated. (Since when had he hesitated?!) He took a deep breath. “Would you like to go to dinner with me?”


End file.
